Guilt and Other Burdens
by DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: It's something they've been doing for so long now: meeting up, taking orders, going places, wreaking whatever kind of destruction they specialise in, then disappearing until the next time. If not for them, the world might be in a much better state right now. (Four horsemen/Apocalypse AU.)


**AN: **This is not a particularly happy fic, for which I apologise (only slightly). The idea came to me a while ago, but between prompts and uni it's been a long time getting it done. I could probably do more with it, but I'm so desperate to cut down my list of fics that need attending to that I'm calling it a day on this already! So I hope you like what's here, and that it's not too depressing...

* * *

Guilt and Other Burdens

Jess is the first one to arrive in the Wasteland. For a few seconds she tries to convince herself it's greyer than her last visit, that the debris and rubble is twitching in a delicate breeze, that she can hear… something. Anything. But the Wasteland is as the Wasteland always was and will be – silent, still, and suffocating. Her toxins are just a motionless cloud at her feet, their green hue too bright against the colourless excuse for earth, and when she feels the urge to sigh nothing happens because the air is too thick to do anything besides breathe. Even that quickly becomes uncomfortable. She casts her gaze about for signs of the others, but she's alone; so she waits a little more.

It isn't so long before Steve joins her. He smiles up at her in greeting, and she appreciates the effort even if it doesn't quite reach his eyes – he is, after all, the sincerest of them all. "Hello Jess."

"Hi Steve."

"It's good to see you again."

Jess raises a brow. "Is it?"

He shrugs his bony shoulders. "Well. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do," she returns, smiling despite herself. She's forgotten how small he could be, how frail he always looks at the start, and wonders how long it takes for him to shrink down to this size. Perhaps that's why he smiles: he'll have what he deserves soon.

Steve cranes his neck around to take in the Wasteland. "Never changes, huh?"

"I always think, 'Maybe this time'. But, no – it never does."

"And that's a bad thing?" They both jump as Tony appears behind them, ostentatious in a red and gold suit as if he can bleed life into the barren atmosphere. "It's familiar," he continues, pulling on his matching gauntlet, "a steady point amongst all this change. A nice little reminder of what we strive for on these 'family outings'. Speaking of which, we're missing one."

Jess looks to Steve with him, who shrugs helplessly. "I don't know where he is."

"But he talks to you. Never once has he threatened your life –"

"He's never threatened mine, either," Jess interrupts.

Tony blinks. "Seriously?" She nods. "'Cause you threaten him back, right? With your nasty clouds of nastiness."

"He doesn't back down when you stick the gauntlet in his face. You really think my toxins are going to scare him into leaving me alone?"

"Nothing scares him," Steve mutters, eyes downcast.

"Bet that's not true," Tony says. "Everyone's scared of something. Perhaps it's just too embarrassing for him to discuss – y'know, might damage his street cred or whatever."

"Tony."

"I mean I totally sympathise with that. No, seriously, I know what it's like to be embarrassed, believe it or not. I was scared of one of my father's cars once. You know why? Because it growled. Eventually I grew up and learned that cars that growled were wonderful things –"

"Tony –"

"– and that there was no need to be afraid of them; so all we need to do is prove that whatever our dear friend is afraid of is actually harmless and, therefore, he can stop being so embarrassed about it and just talk –" The scythe completes its arc at Tony's throat, curved edge resting below his Adam's apple and silencing him for all of three seconds. "You're here, good." Tony turns around under the blade, smiling at its wielder as if nothing is out of the ordinary whatsoever. "Are you going to let me continue with my head still attached to my body?"

If looks alone could kill, Bucky wouldn't have needed the scythe to do his job. Jess watches, slightly nervous, as a standoff takes place between the two of them – not the first, and as familiar as the Wasteland – until finally Bucky relents and slowly draws the scythe back around, resting the great weapon easily across his left shoulder, eyes never leaving Tony's. She casts a quick glance to Steve, who looks as anxious as she feels. "Come on, guys," he says. "Shall we just get this over and done with?"

"Good idea Steve." Tony turns his back on Bucky and pulls out an electronic pad, navigating it with his uncovered hand. As he fiddles, Bucky stalks around him to stand near Steve, nodding at him and Jess. She nods back as Steve tries to start a conversation with him, but he answers with singular words and muted phrases. "Alright team, here's our plan for the day," Tony begins, drawing their attention to the information on the pad. "Steve your target for today is North America, specifically the upper East coast. Go in around Maine and Vermont, but don't go any lower than New Jersey and stop when you reach West Pennsylvania. Bucky, you and me are headed to Africa again for a big bust-up between a whole bunch of people that's really too messy for me to explain – politics, I try to stay out of it – which leaves you, Jess, to spread your wondrous concoctions all over… Poland. Aw. I like Poland. Anyway, keep it central for now, chances are they'll take it to the borders themselves. Once you're done come find me and Bucky, and he'll go back with you to do the dirty work from your last spread. Everyone clear?"

They all nod. Bucky is gone in an instant, Tony following with a quip about anger management. Alone with Steve again, Jess summons up the first smile this time and gently nudges his arm (so thin). "Ready to go to work?"

Steve scrubs a hand through his hair. "I don't like calling it that," he admits.

"What else are we supposed to call it?"

"Punishment?" he suggests. "Repentance? A chore?"

She shrugs. "Could be all of those things."

"Could be." He meets her gaze again, expression lightening. "I'll see you when it's over, Jess."

"Definitely. Not a moment later, you hear?"

"Of course not, ma'am."

Once in Poland, Jess chuckles. It's good to have Steve joking around with her rather than looking so solemn, as if the weight of his task is too much for those tiny shoulders. It's not as if he looks any happier once he's finished; she understands it's hard for him – almost personal. No time for dwelling on it, though: Jess has a 'chore' of her own.

* * *

Warsaw is fairly busy, she finds as she walks through its streets. People are braving the cold weather in random movements, all individuals huddled inside coats, hats and scarves with their hands deep inside their pockets, eyes fixed to the pavement. Trailing her toxins behind her, already in a long line back to where she started, she makes up stories for them in another life, where they probably won't suffer from whatever infection of hers takes root inside their defenceless systems: the man in the trench-coat goes on to become manager of a department store, comfortably providing for his family until he retires, dying some time later in his sleep; the young woman in the beige jacket meets the girl or boy of her dreams, and they both move to a better place to start a new life together; others go on to achieve their ideal jobs or win life-changing prizes, appear on TV or write best-selling stories, and for every person she brushes with a feather-light touch Jess creates a new story for someone else, hoping she can somehow influence a person's life both ways through force of will alone. She'll never know.

Poland's population fell quite drastically after their first visit, she remembers, caught up in the war Tony started between Russia and the European Defence Allies. England notably lost out in that war as well, though people focused more on Poland because, again, the country had suffered needlessly under the conflict of others. She can't remember the exact dates, but Jess is pretty sure the city didn't look this good, in the lowest sense of the word, back then. It's still a far, far cry from what it used to be, but at least the ruins and shelters are gone – construction down this particular road is more or less complete, and she wonders vaguely if the loss of workers will affect the rebuild. Glancing over her shoulder, she watches as her toxin trail breaks when people walk through them, counting just ordinary people with non-construction occupations, and hopes dimly she hasn't slowed Warsaw's processes too drastically.

One tour of the city later, and Jess' job is done. She goes then to North America, looking through the states Tony directed Steve to and finding him in Connecticut. "Done already?" he asks, and she nods, taking in his healthier appearance and the small 'growth-spurt' he seems to have put on. He still has a way to go before reaching his full size, but he hasn't stepped foot in New York or Pennsylvania yet. "Thought you had to go to the others now?"

"I do, but I don't remember where they are." And she's not ready to see what terror they've wrought yet.

Steve smiles at her. "They're in Johannesburg. Tony didn't say it, but I saw his list." Without waiting for thanks, he turns and walks away; Jess follows.

"How are you holding up?" she asks when they're shoulder to shoulder.

He shrugs. "Same as always. You?"

"Ditto. But… the guilt's not so strong this year."

"Lucky you." Holding up his hands, he stares at them as they walk, and she wonders what he's thinking. She won't ask, because making him talk about it when there's nothing she can say to help seems cruel, but remembers him using the word 'selfish' in the past. As if he's reading her thoughts, though, he tries to explain it now: "I still don't like it. Taking away what strength people have left. And not just physically, either – the effects, they ripple outwards…"

"I know," she murmurs when he doesn't continue. "We share that ability, remember?"

Steve lowers his hands, and for a short while longer he remains morose, his cloud only lifting when they reach the edge of the next residential area. "Thanks for dropping in."

"Anytime. I'll see you back at the Wasteland."

"Not like this you won't," he says, less bitter than she expected, and she nods at him before stepping into the war-torn streets of Johannesburg. Smoke surges through the air around her, casting unnatural shadows over the blackened remains of buildings and vehicles, stinging her throat and eyes. Her toxins mingle with the plumes as she follows the trail, adding splashes of green to the grey alongside the spots of orange, and soon she sees the cloud thinning to reveal a red smear ahead of her. As Jess draws closer, it becomes more humanoid, growing into Tony Stark when she's just a few metres away.

"Hey Jess, wanna see the magic happen?" he calls without turning. He raises his gauntlet-covered hand at an upturned car, firing a beam of white-blue light directly into it. After a few seconds, the car explodes, more filthy fire-tainted smoke surging up into the sky as bits of metal arc gracelessly back to the ground. Tony turns then, lips quirked up in imitation of a smile. "Neat, huh?"

Jess opens her mouth to reply but they're both distracted by the sound of breaking glass; down the street ahead of them, a man hurtles out of a shop close to the car Tony just destroyed. He runs at full pelt towards them, gun slung across his back, terror in his eyes, head snapping repeatedly over his shoulder as if he's expecting pursuers. They watch him as he comes nearer, curious, until the blade of a scythe passes through his mid-section (like he's made of the air he used to breathe) and he keels over, momentum carrying his body forward until he slides to a stop some feet away.

"Ooh, good swing," Tony crows as Bucky lowers his weapon. "You got the timing on that just right. Tell me, did you ever take an interest in baseball?" Bucky glares at him.

"I've finished my rounds," Jess says quickly before Tony can give the man another reason to put the scythe to his neck again. "Shall Bucky and I head to Nepal now or do you still need to do stuff here?"

"Nah, you can take him," Tony says, turning his attention back to the road. "We're pretty much done here. All I have to do is blow up a bit more stuff; I can meet you guys and Steve back at the Wasteland." His tone leaves nothing more to be said.

Jess glances at Bucky, who nods his acquiescence. "Okay. We'll see you soon then, Tony."

In Nepal, the memories of walking down the streets come flooding back, and she has to press her hands over her mouth to stop herself from sobbing at the sight before them: it's another high street, but so different to the ones in Warsaw and Johannesburg – the air is pungent with the smells of sickness and decay, the sides of buildings as grimy as the earth they stand on, the sun completely hidden, and bodies slumped against walls and one another long into the distance. Some of her toxins still linger, too bright amidst the tones of grey and brown. They remind her why she's there.

"It starts here," she chokes out. Bucky moves beside her. He approaches the first cluster of people, their eyes already closed, and carefully curves his scythe through all of them in one sweep. It looks painless, quiet, and she hopes it is. That, at least, she can give these people – unlike her victims in Warsaw, making up life stories here is… Well. What would be the point?

"How do you do it?" she blurts out as Bucky finishes with another couple of bodies. "How can you just… get on with it?" When he looks at her questioningly, she ducks her head, wrapping her arms around herself and trying not to see anything. "I told Steve earlier that the guilt had lessened this time around, but… I was wrong."

"It's our burden to bear the guilt of the world," Bucky says. "There's no place for it here. Not anymore."

Jess frowns at the side of his head. "What do you mean?"

"The urge to survive negates any feelings of guilt. If one man steals food from another, why should he feel guilty when the man he stole from would have done the same if their positions were reversed? In a world like that, guilt then falls to those who steal not because they need to, but because they do so against their will." He moves off again, leaving her standing slack-jawed in his wake.

"So, you feel bad?" she asks when she catches up with him.

More people pass away under the scythe as they walk. "Why do you care?" he asks, not unkindly.

"Because sometimes I wonder why I don't just stop," she admits. "Why I go where Tony tells me, spreading this misery around places that don't look like they deserve it. And I guess – I guess I just want to know that it's not just me that feels this way." She shrugs. "Steve has similar reservations, but you and Tony…" Looking up anxiously, Jess tells him the truth: "It's like you don't care."

Gently taking another life, Bucky comes to a standstill. For a long time he remains unmoving, eyes angled down to the body at his feet, yet unseeing, and Jess worries she's angered him. They've seen Bucky's anger, though – Stark from a different angle to the other two – and it doesn't look like this. Shifting on the spot, she debates saying something to try and alter the mood but he speaks instead, quietly, as if there's something tight around his throat; "If I didn't care I wouldn't be doing this." He leaves without waiting for a response.

Jess watches as he walks away, seeing him in that new light people often talk about after revelations and epiphanies. She's never heard anything remotely emotional from Bucky before, and now his slightly hunched shoulders and bowed head don't appear as defensive. Uncomfortable, she calls, "If you need me I'll be with Tony," and quickly moves back to Johannesburg.

If Tony is surprised to see her, he soon masks that surprise with a quirk of his lips. "Barnes scare you off?" he jokes. "Or are you looking for company that'll actually communicate in more than grunts and glares?" At the narrowing of Jess' eyes, he chuckles. "Look, you can't say the guy gives scintillating conversation –"

"Actually, he told me something quite interesting."

Tony raises his eyebrows, then shrugs. "Good for him. Nice to know it's not just Steve he talks –"

"Do you feel guilt?"

"Excuse me?"

Jess levels him with a solid stare. "Guilt," she repeats sharply, hands on hips. "Do you feel it?"

He scoffs, turning and walking down the destroyed road. "What does that have to do with anything?"

She follows him. "Destroying towns, causing chaos, ruining lives – you can't enjoy that."

"I thought it was every kid's dream to be able to blow stuff up as a profession."

"This town has been reduced to rubble because of you –"

"Not rubble, not yet –"

"How can you be proud of that?"

"I thought we were talking about enjoyment, not pride."

"We were talking about guilt, which you don't seem to be showing –"

"Just because I don't show guilt doesn't mean I'm not feeling it." Tony whirls on her suddenly, the gold shirt and red jacket looking dirtier after their short walk, not so shiny. Jess is taken aback by the ferocity with which he pins her, thinly disguised in the grim set of his mouth and the tightness around his eyes and jaw. "You think I don't like the years of peace that come between this? That I look forward to wrecking towns and cities like they're made of Lego and cardboard? I've been doing this for a very long time, since back when we were –" He swallows. "I didn't care about it then, and this is my punishment. There's no way out. And yes, I do feel guilt and I do feel terrible about what I do, but that's also why I pretend it's not a library I'm setting on fire, or a public park or somebody's grandmother's house. And hey, at least it's not some kid who dreamed of annihilating the world just for the sake of it." Tony's eyes move then, ducking down to the gauntlet on his left wrist. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a fight to start."

As he passes her, Jess blinks out of her stupor and finds enough voice to ask, "Why?"

The man in red and gold turns back to her with a light smirk and a one-shouldered shrug. "I don't know. Maybe Sonny King stepped on Junior Samson's favourite pair of shoes." He spins on his heel, fires a ball of blue-white energy into the road, and they stand back and watch as two hordes of people suddenly appear out of nowhere, gathering in separate masses of screaming and shouting, bloodthirsty and war-crazed bodies – and they're headed straight for each other.

"Aren't you going to stop them?" Jess asks, panic trickling into her tone.

The gauntlet whines. "On it."

But somebody else beats him to it; Bucky is there, scythe raised high, waiting at the point where the two groups will meet, and when the first individuals are barely three paces away from him he swings the weapon in a great arc before him. Jess watches, jaw and eyes wide, as person after person goes down under the cut, hard and fast, such relentless brutality that she wonders how he can make it look graceful. He works around the whole conflict, sidestepping stray swings and weapons, determination etched into his face, until he's the last one standing, back where he started, scythe held down by his side. Jess feels sick, and wishes she were back in Nepal.

Bucky turns, striding back towards them as Tony calls out, "Good job th-"

"Not a word, Stark," he snarls, eyes burning. They flick to Jess. She snaps her jaw shut, looks away as he gives them a wide berth, and when she plucks up the courage to glance over her shoulder he's already gone.

"Poor kid."

Blinking away tears she didn't realise had formed, Jess stares at Tony. "What?"

Letting off another blast from the gauntlet, disguising the terrible scene as something more accidental, Tony elaborates. "We think we've got it rough, but really, we just set the stage for him. That guilt you said you felt earlier?"

"I-I didn't say –"

"Hope it's not guilt for killing people. 'Cause that's not what we do."

* * *

Jess waits for Steve on the border of Pennsylvania, sat on an angular rock that digs into her thighs. He's all muscle now, at the peak of his fitness, but he's no different on the inside, concern clouding his features as soon as he takes in her slumped posture. "When you take their strength," she says before he can ask her anything, "do they die?"

He shakes his head. "That's not our job, Jess," he says softly, and looks back at the overgrown suburbia. Following his gaze, she catches a glimpse of a scythe disappearing behind a house.

"Is he okay?"

Steve sighs. "He deals with it, in his own way, so I guess he's as okay as someone in his position can be."

She drags her hands through her hair, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes as she tries to breathe. "God, I feel so selfish."

Stones crunch as Steve shifts, breaking under his new weight, and a big hand rests on her knee. "Well you're not," he says, and she removes her hands, blinking at the watery light. He's wearing different clothes, she realises, looking anywhere but his smile. "We all have our own burdens, Jess, our own scars on our souls. Don't add guilt for Bucky's job on top of guilt for your own. He wouldn't want that."

Jess thinks, then, about the four of them and what they do. She poisons the streets of nations and the people who walk them, wracking them with disease and decay until it's all that's left, and the people are begging for an end; Steve takes people's strength, reduces them to the skin and bones he starts these periods out as, feeble and weak and hardly able to live; Tony shatters anything still standing – people, buildings, civilisations, all fall under the drums of war, hell on earth for those caught up in the fire; and Bucky cleans up after all of them, steals breath and heartbeat and the light of human life. "Because he cares…"

Steve frowns. "Sorry?"

She shakes herself, coming back to the present and focusing on him. "Something Bucky said – that he wouldn't do it if he didn't care. I think… I think I'm beginning to understand." With a sniff, she scrubs the back of her hand across her eyes and stands, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. "Perhaps what we do is awful," she says as Steve joins her, taller in his new body, "but I wouldn't wish it on anyone else."

He nods, smiling in agreement as they step onto the Wasteland. "I think we all share that sentiment."

"What sentiment? And why are we sharing it? I might not want it."

The two of them roll their eyes simultaneously. "Nothing you need to be concerned about, Tony," Jess placates him.

He narrows his eyes at them anyway. "Well, so long as it isn't 'we all want to strangle Tony' or anything along those lines, then that's okay. Because I wouldn't share that sentiment – as colourful as your little clouds of nastiness are Jess, they'd ruin my suit and disagree with me hideously, and Steve, I don't hug. Especially not when you're little finger is stronger than my ribs."

Jess and Steve laugh. Not only does it feel good, but it sounds good, too. So good in fact, that they only laugh harder when Bucky appears, frowning at the two of them and Stark – who hastily declares his innocence – before sighing wearily and resting the scythe on his shoulder until they calm down. When that finally happens, Jess finds herself wiping a tear from her eye. Bucky sees it too, raising an eyebrow slightly, but she just grins and shakes her head, and he turns back to Tony reading out their list of 'accomplishments'.

They all bear guilt, she's realised. They all do jobs they hate for reasons they don't want to discuss, and while part of her feels like she shouldn't be laughing, that she doesn't deserve it, another part has the confidence to say 'so what?'. If she's ever going to see this through to the end – whenever that may be – she has to let herself ignore the guilt, leave it here in the Wasteland where hardly anything exists anyway. It's not a universal cure, not if Bucky's anything to go by, but it works fine for her just now.

"I'll see you guys next time," Jess says before they part ways. And, unlike last time, the words don't feel like lead in her mouth.


End file.
